


A Place to Hide

by Evhein



Category: IDubbbzTV - Fandom, Maxmoefoe - Fandom, The Filthy Frank Show, The Filthy Frank Show (Web Series), george "joji" miller - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Daddy Kink, Emasculation, Fluff, Gay, Little Space, M/M, Regression, Slow Burn, The gayest, ddlb, papa bless, very gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evhein/pseuds/Evhein
Summary: He’d always thought Max had adorable traits about him. He’d always favored the boy. But this new development was quickly piquing an interest he didn’t know he had in Max. The feeling almost made him uncomfortable - he’d never looked at his friend in that type of light before, even after the intimate moments they’d shared. Hosing themselves off together, naked, in the backyard; kissing on camera...“I dunno if I can really get into it without a few drinks,”George turned and took in the sight of him - stiff, hesitant, messy Max, idling in the doorway with his back to him. He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he knew he didn’t want to end the night like this. He ran a hand through his own sweaty hair and breathed deep.“I could drink.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** **Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I'd like to credit jojiberries as the inspiration for this story. If it wasn't for "with a little help from my friends", it wouldn't have been written. Please check that story out. It's adorable, and a lot more cuddly and happy than my angsty bullshit is.
> 
> This story contains heavy themes of daddy issues, little space, emasculation, and dubious consent. This was designed to be a slow burning fetish piece indulgent to a variety of kinks. Plenty of fluff will be included. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Papa bless.

 

The air conditioning fanned his bangs out of his face as he stepped into the terminal. George puffed out a sigh of exhaustion as he hauled his rollaboard behind him. The gate he’d landed at was still full. It was dark outside, and he’d heard the landing time was 11 PM. People bustled around him, meeting up with friends and family before departing the terminal.

He checked his phone as he stood amidst the dispersing crowd. After connecting to the public WiFi, he saw he had missed calls and messages from Ian, but nothing from Max. His heart skipped a beat. He tapped the chat and waited for the slow service to load them.

 

 _You heard from Max?_  
**Received: 8:44 PM**

 _Hey  
_ **Received: 8:57 PM**

 _Dude kind of fucking important  
_ **Received: 9:01 PM**

 _Wtf I guess I’m stranded  
_ **Received: 9:24 PM**

 _Chad’s drunk ass can’t pick me up... can’t get ahold of Max either_  
_WTF IS GOING ON_  
**Received: 9:31 PM**

 _About to flip my shit dude  
_ **Received: 9:53 PM**

 _Your flight’s dropping soon right?????  
_ **Received: 10:34 PM**

 

George felt tension crawling up the back of his neck. He scanned the rows of empty chairs and didn’t see anyone he recognized. He definitely didn’t see Max. He hit call on Ian’s chat and his goofy, grinning face popped up as it dialed his phone. It buzzed six times before dropping. He tried Max next, frowning at the contact picture he’d saved - Max in a filthy, tattered white dress, sweat and who knew what else slicking his messy hair back, with a bottle of Jim Beam to his lips.

His friend didn’t answer. Great.

He dragged his bag to an attendant and asked what gate Ian's flight had let out at. His second bag was waiting for him on the conveyor belt on the way to the other gate.

 

He found his friend in a far row of chairs, curled up across two of them with his face tucked towards the back of a seat. His arms were protectively crossed around his laptop case, while his legs were folded over his duffel bag. His phone had fallen on the floor and laid dejected under his seat. George set his duffel bag under Ian’s seat and smiled at the ice cream cone case. Ian didn’t stir at his proximity, even as he picked it up from the floor. He was lucky it hadn’t been stolen.

He opened the camera on his own phone and took a picture of his sleeping face before reaching forward and smacking it.

“Wha-Hey!” he gasped, jerking up. “George?”

He tossed the boy his phone back and quickly adopted his gravelly Filthy Frank voice. “Hey kid, your mommy and daddy around?”

“Ha-ha,” he scoffed, swinging his legs back over and scrubbing at his face. “What time is it?”

George checked his phone and began sending a text at Max. “11:21,” he answered normally.

“God-fucking-dammit.” Ian peeked up at him, leaning forward on his gangly knees. “You just get here?”

“Yep.”

 

 _Yo Maxie Pad_  
_Where tf are you_  
**Delivered: 11:22 PM**

 

He barely registered Ian babbling about his flight in the background as he checked his other messages. A college buddy asked to use him as a reference. His mom wished him a safe trip in Japanese. Chad asked in drunken English what time he was expected to arrive.

He opened Chad’s thread and began typing.

 

 _Just got here  
_ **Delivered: 11:26 PM**

 

His phone buzzed in his hand.

“Hey, it’s Max," George announced. Ian scrambled to his feet to peek over his arm at his phone.

“Put it on speaker!” he said, too close to his ear.

George winced at his volume as he answered the call. He brought the phone to his ear, making Ian grab at his arm in frustration. “Max?”

“Speaker, speaker!”

“Max, I can’t hear you, some asshole is hollering at me.”

“PUT IT ON SPEAKER!”

 _“Joj’?”_ came a small, tight voice. _“I fucked up,”_

“Shut up, Ian,” he hissed, and pressed up on his volume rocker. “Say again?”

_“I-I fucked up… ‘m sorry,”_

Something in his pitiful tone melted the anger George felt. He hesitated as his eyes met Ian’s frustrated gaze.

“What’s wrong, dude? You okay?” George said softly into the receiver. Ian groaned and fell dramatically back into his seat. “Max?”

 _“S’just,”_ It sounded like the other boy had been crying. There was a sniffle, before some static, like the phone was rubbing against something. _“’M comin’ to get you guys, jus’ wait there. Sorry.”_

The line disconnected. George let his arm down and looked at his screen.

 

 **Call ended.**  
**Duration: :54 seconds.**

 

He sighed. “Any of the shops still open? I’m so fucking thirsty.”

Ian crossed his legs at the ankles. “Just vending machines, dude, and I don’t have any fuckin’ cash on me.”

“I gotchu. Whadda you want?”

“I fucking love you, man. I’ll take anything with caffeine.”

“Got it,” he mumbled while Ian settled in with his phone.

George dug in his bag for his wallet and shoved it in his track pants before abandoning his luggage with his friend and heading off to the machines against the far wall. The lights flickered on and off in the old soda machine.

He thumbed around in his wallet for his money, grateful for the foreign cash he had left over from their last trip down. The pink note he took out stared back at him. He examined it for a moment before pushing it into the slot and letting the machine draw it in. An energy drink for Ian, and a bottle of apple juice for him.

His phone buzzed again. Max. He fought with his drinks to answer the call.

“Hey.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for giving this a chance. I'll try to post a chapter every week, but my schedule is really tight, so all I can promise is that I'll do my best. I'd really appreciate any comments, critiques, or suggestions you have to offer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the sweet comments and kudos! Y'all are fucking awesome.

His phone buzzed again. Max. He fought with his drinks to answer the call.

“Hey.” 

_“Hey…”_

George waited, awkwardly shifting the drinks under his arm as he held the phone to his ear and walked back to where Ian sat. “Uh, what’s up?”

_“Um,”_

Again, he waited. It sounded like the window was down in the background. Max was definitely driving while he was on the phone with him. Ian quirked an eyebrow at the uncomfortable glance George gave him as he handed him his drink. 

“Is that Max? Is he here already?”

“Don’t think so. Max? You good?”

_“I just… Maybe you boys should stay with Chad for tonight? I’m thinkin’ maybe I jus’ drop you guys off, and-”_

“Dude, what the fuck is going on?”

He could hear the _tick tick_ of his blinker in the background. It was painfully silent in the empty terminal as Ian popped open his can and watched him. He gave his bottle to his friend and watched as Ian twisted the cap open and handed it back. Max still didn’t speak. 

“Max, if you didn’t want us to come-”

 _“S’not that! I **want** you here,”_ his voice was tight, anxious. George had bad vibes. He sipped his juice and collapsed in the seat beside Ian. His friend’s glasses clacked against the side of his phone as Ian pressed up close - Dove Men antiperspirant, covering up sweat - and George flinched at the quick movement. 

“Hey, you left me waiting here for hours, dude, I’m pretty fuckin’ pissed about it.” 

_“Ian?”_

“Yeah, it’s your boy Ian, remember me? What the fuck, dude?”

George pulled the phone away and switched ears. “Max, how far away are you?”

Ian sat back in his seat with a grumble and went back to swiping through his phone. 

_“L-like 15 minutes, maybe? I just wanted to… Sorry. Nothing. S’nothing, sorry. Be there soon.”_

_Click._

George pulled away and stared at his screen again. Disconnected. He bit his lip for a moment and shut his screen off. “Dude, what the fuck is going on with Max?”

Ian shrugged and knocked back several gulps of his drink. He was frowning at his phone and pointedly ignoring his gaze.

“Are you pouting?” he teased, before reaching over to cover up his screen with his hand. Ian jerked away and George grinned at the reaction, his arm hovering for a moment before he leaned in to croon in his ear, “Aww, _babe_ ,” 

He lifted his hand to the boy’s face instead, the backs of his fingers stroking down the stubble on his cheek. Ian pulled away like he’d been burned. 

“Fuckin’ - don’t be fuckin’ gay!”

George pulled away with a coy smile, looking intently into his friend’s sour face. “Says the one _pouting_ at me right now.”

“God, fuck off, already!”

Ian's tone wasn’t lightening. He hadn’t even seen the boy in months; he'd expected a warmer reunion than this. 

“Are you serious right now?”

Ian cut him with a condescending look. 

“I’ve been waiting here all alone for hours George - I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, or if I should’ve gotten a cab to a hotel somewhere, or what... I was kind of a _little bit_ fuckin' scared. So I'm _so_ fucking sorry if I’m in a shitty mood about it.” 

Ian had the wide-eyed, mirthless grin he got when he was trying to hide his anger. He turned back to his phone and his smile fell from his face like it had never existed. George watched him for a few more moments. Stiff shoulders, furrowed brow, clenched jaw. Dark eyes darted back to him nervously. 

“The fuck are you staring at me for?”

George looked away and stretched his legs out in front of him. “I’m sorry you went through that, dude. Really. That’s not cool.”

“Yeah, well…” Ian sighed and ran his fingers through his thick mess of hair in frustration. “That’s Max for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Chad says he does this shit sometimes. Just shuts everything out; responsibilities, friends, everything. I dunno.”

“That doesn’t sound like Max.” George countered, and drank from his bottle. 

 “Really? You don’t think it makes sense?” Ian glanced over at him in surprise. “You don’t think it explains why he can’t hold a job, why he can’t even hold a video schedule?”

“No, Ian. Seriously, Chad’s just drunk. Don’t take it to heart.”

“What do you even _really know_ about Max, George?”

“We talk all the time,” he answered, casually draping an arm over the back of Ian’s seat. The taller boy squirmed at the change, and George smiled. “I think we just need a drink, dude. We’ll be okay. Everything's fine.”

“Gettin’ pretty gay here, Georgie.” Ian noted, shifting a little further away. George’s hand slid down onto his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Dude!”

“Chill, babe; didn’t you miss me?”

Ian fought his way out of his chair but George gripped his t-shirt. “Fuckin’ -- fuckin’ quit it!”

George cackled as Ian twisted out of his grip. “What, no love for papa?”

“God, stop calling yourself that!”

George raised one of his loose-laced Adidas to slide up Ian's calf. “You’re so sensitive tonight.”

“I WONDER WHY?!” Ian shouted, redness peeking up from the collar of his t-shirt. 

George couldn’t hold his laughter back as Ian squirmed awkwardly in front of him. His phone buzzed with a message. He unlocked his screen and checked. 

“Maxie’s outside. Let’s get our shit and go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys. Please leave a comment! I'd love to hear what you liked, didn't like, suggestions, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy, back at it again with Chapter 3. It's over twice as long as the others! Hope you enjoy.

The heat outside was stifling despite being past midnight. Both boys groaned from the change. Ian knocked back the rest of his drink and tossed the can at a trash bin.

An old, beat-up sedan was running in the drop-off zone. He recognized Max in the driver’s seat and was surprised he hadn’t been flagged down by security for idling there. The trunk popped and he helped Ian throw his bag in before the boy disappeared around the side of the car. George stuffed his own things inside before slamming the trunk down.

He noticed Ian already waving frustrated gestures towards Max from the back seat. The boy in the driver’s seat had his head down, thick brown locks covering his face from this angle. His shoulders wiggled defeatedly as if he was speaking, and Ian crossed his arms.

George slid into the passenger seat. He sighed in relief at the cool air blasting from the vents, and pulled the door shut as he glanced back at Ian. His friend looked pissed, and turned his face away from George to stare out the window. Max’s shoulders were shaking. He sniffled, wet and loud over the hum of the engine.

“The fuck did I miss?” George demanded.

Max pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up to wipe at his face. George’s eyes caught sight of his pale, soft belly under the light from the terminal before it was covered up again by wet cloth.

He pointedly looked ahead, avoiding George's worried gaze, and put the car in drive.

It was an awkward ride. The car stunk like cigarettes and sweat. Ian stared grumpily out the window until he passed out against it. George couldn’t get a word out of their driver and eventually fiddled with the radio, putting on a soft classical channel and played the volume low. He scrolled through old messages on his phone. He had no service out here.

Max looked like shit. Greasy, filthy hair stuck out at messy angles. Purple, sleepless bruises stood out under his red eyes. George could smell his friend from across the car - unwashed for who knows how many days, with a layer of strong deodorant on top to try to cover it.

George bit his lip, considering, before turning to the driver. “Can I use your hotspot?”

Max fumbled with his back pocket until he got frustrated and slapped his hand back on the wheel. He shook his head and batted dirty hair out of his eyes. George frowned and looked up at Ian in the rearview mirror. He might’ve been drooling against the window - he couldn’t tell from the low light.

“Looks like princess is out,” he commented. Max twitched at the nickname and glanced nervously at him in the mirror. George noticed and wished he had heard their earlier argument. “Wanna talk about anything? It’s basically just us.”

Max shook his head again, crooked teeth now pinning his bottom lip. George eyed him. It was hard not to worry. He went back to his phone, scrolling through pictures now. At the top of his gallery was Ian, sleeping in the terminal seats. He pulled it up in another app and fiddled with different filters.

“A-are you sure…” he trailed off.

George looked up at him, waiting patiently.

“I just mean… You sure you wanna come home with me right now?” Max didn’t even sound like himself. His voice was strained and small. Anxious, alert, his eyes kept darting at Ian in the backseat.

“We came here for you, dude. Like, this isn’t even really a filming trip. This is just to chill.” George said. “I mean, if we get the cameras out, that’s cool, too. But it’s not why we’re here. Not why _I’m_ here.”

He watched Max’s pale adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. A pink tongue slid quickly along chapped lips. “House is a wreck,”

“S’cool.”

“Nah, I mean… I trashed it. Earlier today, o-or yesterday, I don’t even remember - e-everything’s blurrin’ together right now.”

George tilted his head as he watched him speak. “Are you on something, dude?”

“No!”

George's hands rose peacefully. “Alright, chill… So then what _is_ going on?”

Max seemed to consider. Another hard swallow as his grip tightened on the wheel. His eyes glanced back at Ian again, before falling back to the dark road.

It was too quiet. George sighed and unscrewed the lid of his apple juice. The movement caught Max’s attention, and George smiled as he watched his eyes scan the label.

“Want some?” he asked softly, holding the open container up to the driver. There was something in the way Max glanced up from under his eyelashes that held his gaze. George felt his smile turn crooked, sly, without meaning to. Max took the bottle and drank from it. He eyed George from the corner of his eye between peeks at the road.

“What?”

“Nothing.” George chuckled and rejected the nearly empty bottle. “Keep it.”  
  
“Don’t wanna swap spit with me, eh? Cunt?”

“Dude, how many times have we kissed? I’m not afraid of your nasty Aussie mouth.”

Max laughed, loud and genuine, before stifling himself and looking back at Ian. George didn’t realize how much he’d missed the sound. Max finished off the bottle and handed it back to George, who screwed the lid back on and dropped it on the floor for later. It was suddenly too quiet again, and he ached to pull another laugh from his friend.

Max’s voice was hushed the next time he opened his mouth.

“I have this… this problem. I don’t like talkin’ about it.”

George shut his screen off and turned toward him. He waited patiently, intently. Max licked his lips again, eyes checking on Ian every few seconds.

“Sometimes I just... tune out. Like, I stop bein’ me. Supposed to take pills for it, but I fuckin’ hate how they make me feel, so I… don’t.”

George thought about the antidepressants he’d left in his bathroom cabinet back home. He pushed the empathy down and waited for Max to continue. When he didn’t, and the road turned into a driveway, he hesitated. The car came to a stop. He was still trying to fit the right words together in his head and felt like he was running out of time to get answers.

“When you say you ‘tune out’, what does that mean?”

Max cut the engine off and stared into the mirror at Ian. In the sudden silence, they could hear his heavy, even breathing.

“It's fuckin’ embarrassing, dude,”

George didn't push. He just watched - calmly, indulgently - until Max squirmed under the attention.

“I kinda… go little.”

George waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Max couldn't even look at him. Finally, George pushed.

“‘Little’?”

“Like I… Um, they call it ‘regression’, like… Like…” Max's face was red, and he tucked his chin and looked away.

George felt the corners of his lips turning up and he fought them back down. This wasn't the time to tease. “Like you're a little kid?”

Max could hear the smile in his voice and quickly turned on him.

“Fuck up, cunt! It ain't a meme!”

George waved his hands eagerly. “Not teasing, not teasing - I swear, dude. No judgements. I'm just trying to understand. It all sounds a little…”

“It ain't a sex thing.” Max deadpanned.

George laughed sharply before he could stop himself, and Max jerked open the door and yanked his keys out of the ignition.

“Shoulda fuckin’ known better,”

George could hear his angry muttering as he slammed the car door and walked up the drive. Ian jerked awake in the backseat while George fought to get out of the car fast enough. His feet hit the pavement and he jogged to catch up, stumbling in front of his angry friend and blocking his way.

Max rolled his eyes but humored him.

“I don't get it, okay? I’m not gonna sit here and lie and say I do. But I’m not judging you, dude. I _wouldn’t_ judge you, okay?” He stared him in the face desperately, not sure how else to emphasize his point. “Okay?”

A door slammed from beside them, but George didn’t take his eyes off Max’s. Max’s frustrated expression didn’t change, not even when they heard Ian getting into the front seat, followed by the pop of the trunk.

“Yeah, don’t worry, tampons, I got it all by myself. I’m only the third-wheel anyway, apparently.”

Max groaned and continued up the driveway. George stared after him for a moment, feeling something terrible sitting heavily within his chest. When Max turned the corner, he looked back at Ian, trying to stifle the concern.

“So what the fuck is wrong with him?” Ian asked when George moved to help him with the bags.

He shrugged. The humorless smile he hated creeped back onto Ian’s face.

“Y’all _obviously_ had a talk.” Ian pushed, his head bobbing for emphasis.

Another shrug as George took both heavy duffel bags and threw one over each shoulder. The smile broke and Ian slung his laptop bag over his back.

“This whole fucking trip has been drama, dude. Gettin’ real fucking sick of it.”

“You’re right, it has. Sorry, man. I don't really know what’s going on. I’m still making sense out of it. But we’re here to have fun, yeah? Drinks, weed, memes. Good times.”

Ian scowled in response, obviously unamused. “Hard to _chill out_ when you get abandoned in an airport.”

“I get it, man. It sucks. Move on.”

 _“Move on?”_ Ian slammed the trunk shut, the sound far too loud for whatever ungodly hour it was. “I didn’t know what the fuck was happening, George. This whole place is foreign to me. Unlike you, _I_ didn’t have the fuckin’ _privelege-”_

He tensed at the word.

“-to grow up surrounded by every nationality speaking every language on earth. This shit? Being in another fucking country? It still weirds me out. Especially when I’m all by my fucking self.”

They stared at each other in the light from the porch for an uncomfortably long time. All of George’s patience was gone, replaced with a tightness creeping up his back and arms. He could feel the tension in his face, could feel the anger burning his chest until his hands were balled into fists in their tangled grip on the straps of the bags.

The back door slid open and Max stepped out into the stifling heat with them.

“Gettin’ pretty gay out here, boys.” he said, taking one of the duffle bags off of George’s shoulder.

Max was ignored as they stiffly glared each other down.

“Ay, let’s just sleep, yeah?” Max offered, feeling how high tensions were. “We’re all fuckin’ tired.”

Neither moved or spoke. The eye contact was getting tiresome to hold. The defiant gleam in Ian’s eyes had him at the end of his self-restraint. Smug. Arrogant. George clenched his fists tighter.

“Joj’,” Max pressed, reaching out and tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. It broke his concentration and he looked over at him. Max’s eyes were wide and worried. George could feel heat rising in his face.

Ian headed for the house, tossing the bag onto the couch and going for the only guest room, kicking at a discarded can on the floor in his path. George huffed an angry breath out of his nose that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t want to sleep on the couch. He might’ve ran off after him if Max wasn’t holding onto the end of his shirt and staring at him like his world would fall apart if he wasn’t acknowledged.

“Sorry,” George mumbled, hating the confrontation. Ian was his friend. A moment that intense had never happened before. “I dunno what’s goin’ on. Just stress.”

“Mm.”

Max was staring at where his hand gripped his shirt. He looked like he had something to say, but it was trapped underneath a layer of insecurities. His eyes rose to meet his, and George felt like he was staring at another person. A small, fearful boy peeked back at him, looking at him from under long, dark eyelashes.

“Tell me more about being little.” George said without thinking.

Max’s crooked teeth found his lip and his eyes dropped back to his grip on George. His hand fell and clenched his shorts between white fingers. He let a ragged little inhale past his pink lips and George savored every detail on his pensive face.

“Why do you care?” he finally forced out. George made his smile calm and easy.

“Why do I care about your problems?” he asked, an incredulous tone hiding underneath the gentleness he forced. “Because I care about _you_ , Max.”

“Fuckin’ faggot,” Max scoffed and turned away, but it took only seconds for his gaze to return, questioningly. “You… Did y’mention anythin’ to Ian about me?”

“It's not my secret to tell, dude.”

“But… did you?”

George's smile fell, and he saw a trace of fear appear in Max's eyes.

“No. I didn’t.”

Max seemed to hesitate, and George let him.

Little bugs were throwing themselves against the porch light and the glass door. Crickets were chirping loudly in the weeds behind them. George followed the bead of sweat that traced the side of Max’s face until it reached his throat. The direction of his eyes wasn’t lost on his friend, and finally, Max heaved a sigh and tucked his messy curls behind his ears. His fingers found the edge of George’s shirt again, and gave it a little tug towards the door - an endearing action that had his heart thumping in his chest.

“Should at least get out the heat,” he mumbled, leading George inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe we're already on the third week. Let me know what you think so far. I want to hear from you guys. <3 Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 4, holy shit! We're getting into it now, boys. 
> 
> The comments I've been getting have made me so fucking happy. In the style of jojiberries, I wanted to introduce a little "favorite comment" section as well. Let me know if y'all are cool with that. 
> 
> My favorite comment from chapter 3 so far has been from :D, who is apparently anonymous but no less loved.
> 
> _"i will always always ALWAYS be so excited whenever i see this was updated <3333333 this fic is gonna be one of my all time faves, i can already tell :3" _
> 
> Thanks dudes!

The air conditioning was an instant relief. A small beetle made it inside with them, and George watched as it flitted to the kitchen while his friend shut and locked the sliding door.

He’d always thought Max had adorable traits about him. He’d always favored the boy. But this new development was quickly piquing an interest he didn’t know he had in Max. The feeling almost made him uncomfortable - he’d never looked at his friend in _that_ type of light before, even after the intimate moments they’d shared. Hosing themselves off together, naked, in the backyard; kissing on camera...

“I dunno if I can really get into it without a few drinks.”

George turned and took in the sight of him - stiff, hesitant, messy Max, idling in the doorway with his back to him. He wasn’t sure how to continue, but he knew he didn’t want to end the night like this. He ran a hand through his own sweaty hair and breathed deep.

“I could drink.” George agreed, trying not to focus on the creeping exhaustion setting in.

Max passed him stiffly as he made his way to the fridge. The house really was fucked. Cans, trash, and broken dishes were scattered across the expanse of the living room and kitchen. The bar stools were laying on the floor. The sink was filled with dirty dishes.

George's eyes fell to the overturned ashtray below him and he absently scooted it with his sneaker, playing with the cigarette butts and ash abandoned underneath it. He looked up at the clattering of a bottle and two glasses being set on the dirty counter.

“You weren't kidding about the house,” George noted.

Max's hand froze on the cap of the bottle. He glanced around at the mess before pouring them both a shot and offering a glass up to him.

“Warned you.”

“I know.”

The glass was cold in his hand. He stared at Max's downturned eyes, at how thick and soft his eyelashes looked against the dark sleepless bruises. He clinked their glasses together, startling the boy into looking at him, before downing his. The liquor burned and he winced before letting out a loud whoop.

“Hit me up, bartender.”

Max's answering grin was contagious as he poured him another shot. They knocked glasses again before downing the shots at the same time. George shuddered and exhaled raggedly; Max whimpered and scrunched up his face. They shared a smile that made George's chest tight.

“Anutha one,” Max joked, and poured again.

George hesitated as he watched Max knock back his second shot. This would be his third; he could already feel himself getting lightheaded. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten - this was a dangerous game they were playing. Max poured another glass for himself. Reservations down, they drank together again. They were even now.

“Is the goal to get wasted or talk?”

Max deliberated as he poured their fourth glass of amber liquid. “Both.”

“Both,” George repeated, and waited for Max before drinking again.

George coughed as it burned his throat. Max swayed toward the countertop and leaned heavily against it. He showed no signs of opening his mouth anytime soon.

“So then talk, baby girl.”

George realized it hadn't sounded like a meme once the words had left his lips. Max still smiled his big, toothy grin, and George smiled back.

He took the bottle out of the little drunk’s hands and poured another shot for both of them before hiding it on the counter behind himself. With a smile, he crossed one arm across his stomach as his other brought his glass to his lips. Max eyed him, seeming to have finally realized what he'd agreed to.

“You're not getting another refill til you start talking,” he threatened playfully.

“Fuckin’ seriously, mate?” Max looked stubborn, and George appreciated the challenge in his eyes.

“Believe it or not, bitching doesn't count as talking.”

Max reached for the bottle behind him, but he caught him by the arm. The boy looked ready to protest before George cut him off.

“Ah-ah, Maxine - you have to be a good little girl if you want more.”

Max's eyes widened and he seemed to stop breathing for a moment. George was almost considering apologizing before he noticed the red tinge to his cheeks. He smiled instead and let him go.

“F-fuck off, cunt,” Max mumbled as he stumbled back against the opposite counter.

George's grin was so wide it hurt his face. Max looked absolutely petulant as he glared down into the last shot in his glass. It was heartbreakingly cute.

“Dunno whatta say.”

“Do you remember what happens when you're little?” George asked. “After the fact.”

“Um,” Max squirmed, avoiding even looking in his direction. “Yeah. S’not like I…disappear, or whatever. ‘M still me, just, like, a passenger. Watching. Some kinda instinct just takes over.”

“Is that scary for you?”

Max swayed a little as he clung to the counter. “Wanna sit.”

George raised an eyebrow at the shortened sentence and childish whine to his voice. “Are you little now?”

The boy shook his head slowly and slid down to the floor. The drink in his glass sloshed dangerously as he landed on his bottom.

George hovered awkwardly before following him down. It was too cramped a space for their legs to fit. It was barely enough for them both to stand in. He sat with his legs spread open, Max indian-style between them.

“Sometimes is scary.” Max mumbled, playing with the rim of his glass. “Scared now.”

“You're scared right now?”

Max hummed in agreement with a little nod. It was so different from the confident, boisterous Max he was accustomed to.

“Scared of me?”

Max didn’t answer. George knocked his shot back. The boy peeked up to watch him swallow it down, and George gave him a tired smile in response as he leaned his head back against the cabinet behind him.

“You shouldn’t be scared of me, Max,” he assured him.

Max made a little disapproving noise in the back of his throat and looked away from him. “Why?”

“What would I gain from hurting you?”

He seemed to think for a moment as he played with his glass. “Fame.”

“‘ _Fame’_?”

“Views. Fans.”

“For hurting you?”

“Exposing...”

George frowned at him as he stared at the boy’s downturned face. The realization that Max could think of him like that hurt. “I’m, like, a pretty chill guy, Max. I’ve never done anything like that to anyone. And you of all people should know that, dude. Has the shit I know about you or Ian ever leaked?”

“Different.”

“It’s really not.”

“Is.”

George set his glass down between them a little harder than intended, making the boy flinch and jerk his head up towards the sound. George didn’t bother smiling again. He was too tired for this shit. He reached up blindly to the counter above him and caught hold of the bottle. He poured himself another shot as Max took the opportunity to down his own, hissing as it burned his throat. He held out his empty glass, but was ignored as George set the bottle between his legs and stared bitterly at him.

“Keep talking.”

Max squirmed from the intensity. The amber liquid that was left caught the light above them as he swirled it in his glass.

“Do you want me to just ask questions?” he asked finally, getting sick of the quiet game.

Max nodded and looked up at him. George considered.

“Do you wear diapers?” He asked, and smiled at how quickly the boy turned red.

“Fuck off!”

The sudden, explosive curse surprised him. “Is that a ‘no’?”

“It’s - I - I don’t!”

“Do you _want_ to?”

Max dropped the glass and covered his flushed face, pulling his knees up to his chest. George chuckled and sat the glass back up.

“Stop bein’ a little bitch and just tell me, Max.”’

“I dunno, cunt!”

“So that’s probably a ‘yes’, gotcha.” He couldn’t help the crass smile spreading across his face.

Max lashed out with his leg, nearly catching George in the groin, but he grabbed him by the ankle. Max thrashed around, knocking over the bottle and their glasses as George fought him down. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Ian could hear the commotion.

“Fucking stop!” Max screamed, failing to break his hold. “Stop! STOP!”

“Then stop kicking me!”

“FUCK _OFF_ ME, CUNT!”

George broke down in laughter as he laid on top of the struggling boy. Max didn't respond well to being pinned down underneath him, and George was amazed at how hard he kicked out against him and the cabinets. Leave it to Max to throw his all into something stupid.

“Chill,” George said, forcing a calmness into his voice as he felt the situation peaking. “Max, shh, shhh! Easy, dude, you're gonna hurt yourself.”

Max thumped his head on the floor dramatically as he tired out, whining incomprehensibly now with his cheek against the dirty laminate flooring. George laid his forehead against the boy's back and grinned.

“You're a fuckin’ idiot, Max,” he teased with no venom. Max made a frustrated noise and turned his head to the other side.

“'M layin’ in booze, asshole,”

“Whose fault is that?”

Silence. Another whine, followed by Max trying to test the strength of his grip again with one final burst of energy. George held fast, finding a sick enjoyment in their drunken wrestling. Max dropped his head back down and laid defeated.

He couldn't count how many seconds ticked by, feeling his panting turn to heavy breathing under his weight. His limbs were fatigued and tingling from the alcohol. He savored the warm body he held down, chasing a dominant high he'd never felt before. He grabbed a harsh handful of tangled, dirty strands and pulled his face off the floor.

“Whose fault?” he demanded again, his grip rougher than intended.

“My fault…”  Max finally admitted.

“Good girl, Maxine,” he whispered with a grin, victorious, as his lips clumsily rubbed against the warm curve of the boy's ear.

The noise Max made underneath him was positively sinful. George hesitated; the realization that it wasn't a soft, pliable female squirming underneath him hit like an cold fist to his gut.

He let him go.

“Ow, cunt!” Max hissed as his forehead smacked the floor.

George mumbled an apology as he crawled back off him and drunkenly found his footing. He leaned heavily against the counter and stared at him. Max was belly-down in a puddle of bourbon, covering his face behind his hand. He looked red from around his fingers. George knew he'd embarrassed them both.

“Sorry, dude,” he said, reaching down to help. Max was the drunken kind of heavy that was more akin to hauling a corpse than a living person. He was slack in his arms as George stood him up, slipping around in the liquid under their feet.

“S’nothin’, jus’…” Max slung his arms around his neck, “waste of booze, iz’all.”

The hot breath against his neck sent a surge of adrenaline through him. He caught Max as his legs gave out and pulled him up in a weak attempt at a bridal hold. He wasn't strong enough to hold him long, arms already shaking, and took care to step around the sticky puddle as he left the kitchen and tottled down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have been going through some shit. Sorry for the late post. Also - only 1 comment in 2 weeks? Jeez dudes.  
> Enjoy.

Max's door was cracked. George pushed through it as his friend tucked his face against his neck, hiding from the light the ceiling fan wrought. He laid him on the bare, stained mattress and glanced around at the state of his room - the dresser was overturned and blocking the closet, with the drawers and clothes spilling out. His bedsheets were tangled on the floor, hiding more clothes and shoes underneath. Forgotten plates of dishes cluttered the floor by the headboard. The room wasn't the worst thing he'd ever smelled, not by far, but it was still unpleasant. 

He sighed at the mess and started pulling the sticky clothes off the dozing boy, wrinkled t-shirt coming off first, then shoes, before he struggled with his shorts, leaving him in a pair of black briefs that had seen better days. 

Max looked small and vulnerable suddenly in the harsh glow of the light.George struggled to unearth a sheet and draped it across the boy as he sprawled out more comfortably. 

“Don' go,” Max whispered, reaching out to grab his shirt. 

His heart skipped. He turned to see Max, his bleary, worried expression, and hesitated. They'd slept together before, in hotels, but never in Max's bed. The empty expanse of stained pillowtop beside Max looked intimate and overwhelming. 

“Joj’,” Max tugged at his shirt, and George found his breath again. 

“Sure.” 

As if afraid he'd run away, Max was slow to release his grip on him. George shut off the light. They were plunged into darkness. The only illumination came from the kitchen down the hall, and George realized the door was left open. He shut it quietly, holding onto the handle longer than was necessary as he fumbled with his feelings. 

He was overthinking this. 

He kicked off his shoes and jerked when he heard the snap of a switch. The room was bathed in blue light from the lamp by the bed. Max flopped back onto the mattress and eyed him nervously. 

“Hate the dark.”

George couldn't help his smile. He crawled in beside him from the foot of the bed and looked around aimlessly for another pillow. Max wiggled away and pulled George closer by his shirt. 

“Share.”

“This is getting pretty fuckin’ gay, Maxine,” George teased as he scooted closer. 

“Be big spoon,” Max whined, turning over and drunkenly wiggling back again. 

He mumbled an assent and tugged the sheet over them both. The room was quiet besides their shifting. George wrapped an arm around Max's belly and scooted in closer. His bare skin was against his. He felt nervous, awkward. This was one of his best _male_ friends. Had he ever realized how soft and warm Max was? His dirty hair was in George’s face, and he reached up to smooth it out of his way. It fell back into place as soon as he got settled, tickling his face. He puffed air at it in frustration, drawing an irritated sound from the dozing boy. 

“This - this isn’t working,” George mumbled, pushing it out of his face again. 

Max rolled back over and buried his face in George’s chest. His own face felt like it was on fire. Was this still considered spooning? His arm was uncomfortably trapped between them, so he draped it across the boy's side. He could feel the smooth planes of his shoulder blades under his fingers. Max seemed to quickly realize he couldn’t breathe with his face pressed so close, and turned his neck at a strained angle in an attempt to get comfortable. He huffed in frustration and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Jus’ lay back,” he grumbled, after a small yawn that shouldn’t have pulled at his heartstrings the way it did.

George moved closer on the pillow and shifted onto his back. Max settled in against his side, his head resting on his shoulder. George struggled to move his arm under the boy’s neck as Max wrapped his limbs around him. 

Eventually they fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. It felt right. 

He lifted his hand to ghost along his back, and the boy murmured something against his chest, nuzzling closer. The blue light made him paler, and he studied his face, the subtle twitching of his eyelids, his soft eyelashes, the way his lips were slack and his even breathing warmed his skin. 

He wanted to kiss him then, on his face or his hair, something soft and chaste - something he would have never considered if he was capable of rational thought. But he was dizzily drunk, and it was some unspeakable hour he couldn’t read on the blinking alarm clock, and there was no one awake that could tell him he shouldn’t. 

So he did.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough ride, to be honest. Life isn't great right now. Sorry for the long wait. I do sincerely appreciate the comments I've gotten. Papa bless up.

 

He woke up alone. The sun was blinding and the sheet was hot. He kicked it off and stretched out for a moment, walking himself through last night.

What had he done? Nothing Max didn't ask for - or that anyone was sober or awake enough to see. He'd make himself forget about the small kiss he'd brushed against his friend's slack lips. He'd forget about how he meant to aim for literally anywhere but his mouth, and what that might have said about his inner desires.

The door opened and Max hesitated as they made eye contact. He entered and shut it behind himself. George sat up because it felt like the right thing to do. Max avoided his eyes as he dug through a pile of clothes for something to put on.

He was still in nothing but the briefs from last night. George took in the pale expanse of skin and couldn't help but compare him to one of the last girls he'd slept with - a soft, inviting body, with a thickness he wanted to dig his fingers into. He forced his gaze down before he got caught. What was he thinking?

Max pulled on a t-shirt and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry ‘bout last night.”

At first he didn't realize he was meant to respond. He sleepily ran a hand through his own messy hair and found himself staring at him again.

“For what?”

“For puttin’ you through all that.”

“It's cool - I really didn't mind, dude.”

Max looked him over before leaning down to dig in the pile again. “Never even gave ya chance to change.”

George was still in the t-shirt and trackies he'd arrived in.

“It's cool,” he repeated lamely, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. Usually he'd have a way to spin this into a meme, to say something to ease the stress and make them both laugh, but as he watched Max pull on a questionable pair of tan shorts, he had nothing.

“Hungry?” Max asked, adjusting himself in the wrinkled clothes.

George just nodded, having a hard time dealing with his emotions through the fog sleep had left him in.

“Ya look jetlagged as fuck, dude.”

He nodded again. “Probably some hangover in there, too.”

Max chuckled and slapped him on the back.

*  *  *

 

They found Ian in the kitchen, a destroyed piece of toast in a pile on the counter in front of him. He had set up his laptop beside it and was busy with something, looking disheveled and just as stressed as the day before. He didn't even acknowledge them as they came in.

“Morning,” George offered, feeling tensions already rising. “What’d that bread do to you, dude?”

“It left me in an airport for four hours,” he shot back, voice flat.

Max went stiff by the fridge. George forced a chuckle and stole one of the crusts from Ian's mess.

“Looks like you forgave it anyway.”

“Didn't have a choice.”

George strained a big smile at Ian, before eating another piece as a glass of orange juice was placed in front of him. Ian scowled at his laptop as George took a sip.

“Eggs?” Max asked softly, unable to look at either of them, but George smiled at him anyway.

“Hell yeah, dude. Ian, you too full for eggs?”

“Where did you sleep last night?” Ian asked, carefully maintaining an offhanded tone.

George should have expected it. He kept his face neutral and avoided looking at Max for confirmation - Ian already knew that answer. There was no sense beating around it.

“Inside Maxine's tight little pussy,” he quipped with a grin, Frank's ragged voice itching his throat, before feigning a respectful glance towards the boy in question. “No homo.”

Max was pale as he dug out a pan from a cabinet. Ian didn't seem to think it was funny either, and it probably wasn't, but any other time it would have at least pulled some sympathy laughs from his friends.

It bothered him that Ian wouldn't even look at him. George leaned his elbows against the counter and peeked at the video Ian was editing. Another Bad Unboxing. Ian sighed through his nose, seemingly irritated with the scrutiny, as George studied the tension in the planes of his neck and jaw.

“Believe it or not, a bed is a lot more comfortable than the couch, babe. You're just jealous I didn't sleep with you instead.”

Ian finally spared him a look, some indiscernible emotion on his face. He shut his laptop and leaned in close. George anticipated he was about to be told something private, but instead Ian reached for George's glass and slowly slid it towards himself, maintaining a resentful sort of eye contact that made the whole act uncomfortable. Ian downed the hijacked juice and set the glass down, before throwing a quick glare in Max's direction and leaving, laptop under his arm.

“If you weren't on the rag all the time I wouldn't have to sleep with other women!” George shouted after him.

The door to the spare room slammed shut.

Max wouldn't meet his eyes when George looked at him, and in the sudden quiet he felt lost. He walked around the counter and climbed into the seat Ian had vacated, watching as Max poured a mixture of eggs into the pan.

“I think that went well,” George sneered.

“He hates me.”

“He just doesn't understand what's going on. He thinks we're leaving him out of something.”

Max didn't respond.

“You'd feel the same way if you were him.”

“That your way ‘a saying I oughtta tell ‘em?” Max demanded.

George shrugged. “Ian's a vault. It's not like it'd get around.”

“All I fuckin’ need - _Content Cop: Maxmoefoe_.”

“For fuck’s sake, Max, I've edited enough of our trash, I've seen the looks he gives you. Ian fuckin’ loves you.”

“Doesn't matter. No one but you knows, an’ I dunno why I even told _you_ , cunt. It's too much risk.” Max rubbed his eyes, seemingly more in frustration than anything. “Ian speaks, people listen. It would fuckin’ destroy me.”

“Dude--”

Max turned on him with the spatula raised. “It's ‘ _not your secret to tell_ ’, yeah? So stay the fuck out of it!”

George stared evenly back at him, silently ripping apart a piece of toast, until Max turned back around.

The only sound was the angry scraping of the spatula against the bottom of the pan. George leaned back on the stool with a soft exhale and glanced around.

“We should clean up today.”

Max seemed to consider as he moved the pan off the burner and turned the knob off. He pulled a few plates out of the cabinet and set them aside. George watched his pale fingers untie the bag of bread as he worked on making more toast. Even at his thinnest, Max had always had chubby hands.

He smiled, caught looking, and received a nasty scowl in return.

“What?” Max snapped.

“You're all riled up,” George observed.

“Yeah? _And?_ ” Max spat back, yanking down the handle on the toaster.

George leaned against the counter on his elbows. Max was growing more irritated the longer he stared.

“Fucking _what_ , cunt?!”

George lowered his voice and smirked. “Does someone need a time-out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, important update: 
> 
> I'm officially out of material.   
> This update was the last of what I had backlogged. 
> 
> If you have things you want to see, interactions you want to happen, things you think would be cute or sexy or dramatic, now is DEFINITELY the time to throw them my way. 
> 
> If you're shy, send me a private message, idgaf. 
> 
> The story will suffer otherwise, cause right now I'm on a new medicine and my creativity feels completely sapped. 
> 
> Thanks, folks. Stay tuned.


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